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She thought about how drunk Gabriela had looked the night Tim had bitten her.
“What about alcohol? If you pick women up in bars, does it matter if they’re intoxicated?”
“I don’t take blood from people using drugs or with any level of alcohol in their blood.”
She couldn’t question him about Gabriela, even if she wanted to. He couldn’t know that she’d followed him.
He pulled her down with him onto the sofa and lifted her into his lap before handing her a giftwrapped box. “I have something for you.”
Not used to receiving gifts, she took it awkwardly. It was heavy. “You didn’t have to.”
“Oh, believe me, I did.” He kissed her nose. “Open it.”
The thin, golden paper tore away easily, revealing a brown cardboard box big enough to hold a large book. She lifted the lid. Inside was a leather-bound volume. Her initials were embossed on the front in golden ink.
Caressing the letters that popped off the soft leather, she searched his eyes. “What is it?”
“Open it,” he said again.
She removed the book and turned the cover. Scanning the writing, she flipped the pages with growing astonishment and amusement. It was a recipe book written in Tim’s handwriting, and the first recipe was his famous croque monsieur.
“A recipe book?” she asked with a laugh.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t need one.”
“You’re very optimistic if you think I’m going to change.”
“Not change, just manage while I’m gone. Cesar isn’t the world greatest cook either.”
“So, he’s staying?”
“For your protection.” He turned to the last recipe to show her the empty pages after. “This is for all the recipes I still have to teach you.”
She put the book on the table and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You expect me to take notes?”
“Oh, yes.” He moved closer, his lips brushing over hers. “I may just decide to test you. Punishment will be linked to performance.”
When he sealed his mouth over hers, he stole her breath. He held her firmly to him with one hand while he brushed the knuckles of the other over the side of her breast. A familiar coppery taste filled her mouth. He’d given her the blood her body needed.
She’d started needing something different too, something she’d denied herself her entire life.
Chapter 12
The bug Maya had managed to plant in Tim’s study in San José transmitted his conversations to her tablet where it was recorded to play back as needed. She used the times when Frida and Cesar were outside to go through every corner and crevice of the condo for hidden cameras or other devices and came up empty-handed. There also wasn’t any equipment to tap into that could bring her closer to Ilano’s Mexican source. Tim kept all the data with him and left it in San José on the weekends when he came to Puerto Viejo. For now, the bug was her best tool.
More dive students signed up. Finding time to do her real job was becoming a challenge. Wherever she went, Cesar followed. He kept out of her personal space, but rarely let her out of his sight. Only in the condo with more guards to protect the property did he give her privacy. By stealing precious moments after packing away dive equipment in the cabin, she discovered that Ilano had ordered new weapons, which were to be shipped from the same warehouse in one week. She tried to hack her way to the Mexican connection by following the communication trail from Tim to Ilano’s line and from Ilano’s line to his source’s, but it was a time-consuming task. Every time she got close to nailing it, Cesar appeared in her line of vision, and she had to hastily hide her equipment. The smartwatch was off limits while she resided at the condo. The tactical piece of equipment was too advanced, expensive, and specialized for a scuba dive instructor.
On Tuesday morning, after her first dive, Maya finally made some headway with the call tracing to Mexico, but when she looked through the cabin window, she saw Cesar walking toward the hut. She slammed the cover on the tablet shut and pushed it into the cupboard. Damn. Her work on the call was lost. She was about to send the lead to Joss, but now she’d have to start over. When Cesar walked through the door, she was hanging out the wetsuits to dry.
“Need a hand?” he asked.
She spun around. “Fuck, Cesar. I can do this. What I need is space to breathe.”
His forehead furrowed, and his nostrils flared.
“What?” she snapped. “Are you smelling my anger, dhampir?”
He stilled. “I’m only trying to help.”
She put a hand on her hot brow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bark at you.”
“It’s all right.” He crossed his arms. “I understand.”
“You don’t understand shit,” she said under her breath, busying herself with the wetsuits again.
